


On the Edge of Desire

by kwrites



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Ex Sex, F/M, Smut, Speculation, post 4x15
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwrites/pseuds/kwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re broken up and the wedding is off -- permanently -- as far as Oliver and Felicity are concerned. When Cupid makes a sudden reappearance, the lines begin to blur and suddenly they find themselves on the edge of right and wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All events in this story are based purely on episode speculation. The title for the story is based on Edge of Desire by John Mayer. I highly recommend listening to it while thinking about Olicity. If pain is your kind of thing, that is.

_(Artwork is by the lovely[fe-li-ci-ty](http://fe-li-ci-ty.tumblr.com))_

* * *

 

 

Life has a sick sense of irony, Felicity has come to find out.

 

Looking down at the strapless white dress woven around her, she fights the disbelief that sits heavy in her gut. How can this possibly be her life right now? It was only a couple of weeks prior that she had been trying on beautiful dresses for her wedding, a bright smile on her face despite her disability and the struggle that came with changing in and out of clothes.

 

That had been _before._

 

Before Darhk had uncovered the truth of William and the lies that had built an ocean of distance  between her and Oliver. Before she had slid the ring off of her finger and before she had miraculously regained the feeling in her legs.

 

She had called the wedding _off_.

 

They had spent the last couple of weeks co-existing in a weird state of denial. They both knew the score -- sure. They were separated. Permanently, as far as the both of them were concerned. Oliver had spent the first couple of days after she had walked out attempting to speak with her and shooting puppy dog eyes her way every time they crossed paths.

 

With the sudden disappearance of her paralysis, she had needed some assistance. Her legs still wobbled from time to time and she got tired easily. Oliver hovering over her constantly had done nothing to help the situation. She had finally snapped, unable to take another second of it.

  
Ever since then, things had been even more strained between them.

 

And now… now she is standing before Oliver, watching him with a tremulous hold on her sanity as they stand next to a freakin’ altar. His tux spans the broad length of his shoulders and she can’t help but give a spare thought to how _good_ he looks before she remembers her place. It doesn’t matter what he looks like or what dress she’s wearing right now because this isn’t _them_.

 

They aren’t supposed to be here.

 

Cupid - no, _Carrie,_ had cornered her earlier in the day in between leaving Palmer Tech and heading for a quick bite to eat before she planned to hit the lair. Felicity hadn’t even had time to think about what her appearance might have meant before she had been grabbed and pulled into a sleek, black limo. Head spinning, she had listened to Carrie’s monologue with a feeling of stunned disbelief.

 

_I heard the dreadful news about you and Oliver. No, no, it just won’t do. I’ve been following your love story on the news for months now. You are the couple that everyone believes in. You two are meant to be, Felicity. It’s destiny. And you can’t fight destiny._

 

Her mind had been running a mile a minute, listening to Carrie lay out her plans for their evening. She had acquired a justice of the peace, who obviously had to be as _cuckoo_ as Carrie was to even go along with something like this, and blocked off a hall for her and Oliver to be married in.

 

Married.

 

_There’s no way Oliver will go along with this. What are you going to do, kidnap him too?_

 

She had sputtered excuses left and right before realizing; Carrie had been enamoured with the Arrow. She had no idea Oliver was one in the same. As far as she was concerned, he was just another innocent bystander who could be captured and held up to these insane demands. But still, she had held on hope and tried to remain calm in spite of her situation. There was no way Oliver and the team would let this happen.

 

As if on cue, Oliver had shown up, looking a little disheveled but no other worse for wear. She fought the burst of happiness she felt upon seeing him, remembering the score between the two of them and then leaning only on the feeling of relief for her safety. She was ready to get out of this horrid dress and go back to her hotel room, _alone_. Unmarried.

 

As expected, Oliver had seemed to have a plan. His eyes shot reassuring glances her way even as he agreed to Carrie’s demands, allowing himself to be shuffled to a room to change into a tux. What Felicity hadn’t expected was for the ruse to go so far.

 

She hadn’t expected having to actually walk down the aisle to Oliver, the chant of the wedding march echoing through the empty hall, filled with red roses and sparkling lights. The feelings of grief and devastation had weighed her down every step of the way.

 

 _This isn’t how it was supposed to be,_ her mind screamed silently to an audience that didn’t exist.

 

Oliver’s gaze scanned her with dark eyes full of regret and a little bit of what she thinks is longing. She knew then that this situation would only spell more disaster for the two of them once they managed to find their way out of it.

 

Coming back to the present time, she realizes the justice of the peace has been speaking for what seems like hours now, but Felicity hasn’t heard a word that’s left her mouth. She’s too caught in Oliver’s gaze as they stand across from one another, the role they play hitting too close to home and she feels the white dress threatening to suffocate her.

 

It’s nothing compared to the way she feels when they both realize it’s his turn to recite his vows. Neither of them had expected the ceremony to reach this point, and Felicity begins to feel the dread rise steadily, because what if the team doesn’t get here in time? Are they actually going to…

 

“Make those vows good, Oliver. We wouldn’t want to have to start all over again, would we?” Carrie’s voice carries through the hall, amusement tinging every note.

 

Felicity’s heart sinks further, any chance they had of getting out of this unscathed looking bleaker and bleaker. She watches Oliver lick his lips, her mind screaming at the injustice of the situation over and over again.

 

He begins the vows unsteadily, his voice soft and wavering as he works quickly through a short history of their love and into a short monologue of his feelings for her. The tears rise unthinkingly, her heart pounding her ears as the blood rushes to her head. The words twist a perfect story and the jack hammering of her heart threatens to drown her when a loud banging comes from behind the hall’s doors.

 

She hears Carrie curse and move towards the commotion. She can make out the voices of their team as they push through the doors to put an end to this farce, but Felicity can’t tear her gaze away from Oliver, whose own eyes look suspiciously wet as he looks back at her despairingly, before he too turns to become involved in the fight, leaving her standing at the altar.

 

Alone.

 

* * *

 

Pushing back from her keyboard, Felicity sighs, the crick in her neck causing her to roll her head in circles, searching for relief. Glancing briefly at her computer screen, she searches out the time. _11:30pm._ Despite the day’s events, she hadn’t been ready to go back to the lair and face the source of her frustration. And her hotel room, as pleasant as it was, was even more lonely than her office at Palmer Tech.

 

Letting her thoughts drift, she can’t help replaying the last minutes of the day’s unfinished wedding. The look on Oliver’s face as he spoke his vows, no matter how forced, is an image she’s finding difficult to erase. She wonders how much of the words he spoke had been real and what had been uttered under pretense.

 

There’s one part in particular she can’t stop from running over and over in her mind. No matter how hard she tries, the words echo through her like a broken record.

 

_I promise to spend the rest of our lives showing you I can be honest… and a team player. Someone to depend on, someone to trust… because I depend on you, Felicity. So, so much. I’m just not always so good at showing it. That’s -- that’s going to change._

 

The words had jolted her at the time, hitting too close to home. Unable - and unwilling - to show any emotion during the ceremony, she had swallowed any thoughts she had on them. Now, in the comfort and silence of her office, the words refuse to leave her and all she feels is empty.

 

A little too late, Oliver, she can’t help but think. If only he had come to that conclusion before spending months upon months lying and making up cover stories… perhaps they wouldn’t be here. They’d be married by now, she thinks. Perhaps spending the night wrapped around one another in bed, or teasing each other through the comms.

 

  
She can wish and hypothesize all she wants, but what good does it do her? She can feel the start of a migraine beginning to cloud the edges of her mind when --

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Oh my god!” she jumps, her hand settling on her chest. It’s a reaching, empty effort to calm her increased heart rate. Looking over, she spots Oliver hesitating in the doorway of her office. “What are you doing here Oliver?”

 

“I’m sorry for startling you, I just -- I wanted to see how you were doing. I know today couldn’t have been easy for you.”

 

“I’m fine, Oliver,” she counters.

 

He sighs, looking back at her with a knowing look. “You don’t have to lie to me, Felicity.”

 

“I learned from the best,” she snaps.

 

Oliver’s face falls, her gut twisting with an unpleasant feeling. When will they stop this dance they’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks? Small talk with occasional jabs meant to sting - to bruise. She’s tired, weary and in an unending hole of confusion.

 

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just tired, honestly. It’s been a long day.”

 

Despite the repentant look on his face, he takes a seat in one of the chairs across from her, apparently intent on staying and pushing the matter. “It’s okay. I probably deserved that. But, I know that this hasn’t been an easy day for you Felicity, because it hasn’t been an easy day for me. Talk to me about it.”

 

Felicity snorts. “Which part? The part where a love-obsessed psychopath, who not so long ago was obsessed with _you,_ kidnapped me in broad daylight? Or the part where we were then dressed up in matrimonial attire and almost married by said woman? You might need to be a little bit more specific.”

 

“Both.” He winces, his large frame looking decidedly uncomfortable in the modern chair of her office.

 

“What’s the point?”

 

Oliver sighs, eyes moving around the office that once was his own before looking back at her. “I don’t know about you, but today was… a lot. I think it would help the both of us to talk about it.

 

He’s right and she knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Their break up is still so fresh, their separation a solid barrier between them for weeks.

 

“The whole kidnapping by a crazy person… that’s the easy part,” she says. “Suffice it to say, this  has not been the first time and probably won’t be the last in our line of work. Walking down the aisle and getting three fourths of the way into marriage vows with you… well that might take some time to work through.”

 

“That I can agree on,” he answers, “Felicity --”

 

“Did you mean it?” she interrupts.

 

His eyes quickly flit over to her, cutting her to the core and her hands are clammy at her sides.

 

“Mean what?”

 

She fiddles with a pen on her desk, trying to hold on to _anything_ she can in the midst of feeling like everything around her is falling apart.

 

“The vows… what you said --”

 

It’s his turn to interrupt. “I meant every word.”

 

His words warm her over even as the anger of their reality turns her stomach over. It would be too, too easy to get caught up in the events of the day and forget… everything. All of the reasons she needs space. She can’t let that happen. There’s still too much to work through and she’s not ready for that. Not yet.

 

“You’re right. Today was a lot,” is all Felicity manages in response.

 

The silence sits between the two of them like a brick. She isn’t sure what to say. It’s been happening a lot lately when it comes to Oliver. Felicity eyes the door, searching for words that’ll make him walk through it. She doesn’t want to be the one always walking away.

 

He seems to get the wordless message - he’s always been good that way. He gives her a sad smile before his body unwinds from the chair. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m sure you have work to get back to but… you should get some rest. You deserve to.”

 

He’s almost to the door when --

 

“Oliver.”

 

She isn’t quite sure what propels her to say his name.

 

He turns around slowly, looking at her expectantly.

 

Felicity stands up, dropping the red pen on her desk and walking a few steps towards him. She stops halfway there when she remembers they no longer do this. They don’t go home together after a long day of work. Oliver doesn’t walk her down the elevators and leave her with a soft kiss and a promise of later. They don’t do much of anything together anymore.

 

So she stands there, and she doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even know where to start or _why_ or _if_ there are words to be said. Oliver’s looking at her with a strange look in his eyes, contemplating answers to questions unspoken. The walls feel like they’re closing in around them, and she wonders if he feels it too.

 

“Nevermind, sorry -- I don’t know what I was thinking --”

 

Something in Oliver seems to break then.

 

She only has seconds to realize that his body is quickly moving towards her before her waist hits the edge of her desk. The space between them vanishes. Felicity thinks, no -- _knows_ , this is a terrible, awful idea. But it’s getting harder and harder to hear her thoughts over the pounding in her ears.

 

His hands settle on her waist and the first touch of his hands on her body sets her aflame.

 

It’s been so long...

 

A tremble runs down her spine, the atmosphere between the two of them heavy. Stifling. Oliver lifts a finger and she feels her chin slowly being raised up, their eyes meeting in a clash of emotion. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight and her mouth opens in a silent gasp for air.

 

That’s all it takes.

 

The leftover hand on her waist tightens, the hand on her face slips to her neck and then their lips are crushed together with force.

 

The part of her that tells her this is a bad idea, that nothing good can come from it - shuts off. It’s just the two of them here, now, and _god_ does she want to be closer.

 

Their lips move against each other, vying for control of the kiss. It’s everything they’ve wanted to say for weeks. _You hurt me. I miss you. Why did you lie? I love you. I’m so angry with you._ The hand on her face disappears, moving back down to her waist until she’s lifted onto the desk.

 

She gasps, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip through and taste her once more. His hands move up and down her sides, igniting her beyond reason. He steps in between her legs, which automatically open for him before closing around his waist in a possessive grip.

 

The more they move against one another, the angrier their actions become. Days of building unspoken grief and longing finally being released. His lips bite into her shoulder, sucking and surely leaving a mark. It fuels her anger. Her nails dip into his shoulder, piercing him through the grey sweater on his back.

 

Oliver’s hands scramble to pull the sweater off his back. Her hands reach to help him, wanting - _needing_ to feel the skin of his bare shoulders and pointedly ignoring the tremble that sweeps his body when her hands land on bare skin for the first time.

 

It’s the first time they’ve touched since her failed physical therapy lesson.

 

It’s too much and not enough.

 

“Felicity,” he breathes out.

 

The words seem to give him a renewed sense of purpose, almost like he hadn’t truly realized where he was and _who_ he was with.

 

Hands push at the seams of her dress, the material rising up until it’s crinkled around her waist. The rough feeling of his hands running between her inner thighs sends a shocking rush of lust through her, the arousal beginning to pool below. She knows Oliver has felt it too by the growl that emits from his lips.

 

They move quickly together now, her panties ripped from her and thrown aside, forgotten. Felicity’s hands rub and scratch at Oliver’s solid chest, unsure if she’s trying to push him away or pull him closer.

 

He makes the choice for her, stepping in even closer as one long finger pushes into her suddenly. He doesn’t give her time to recuperate, thrusting the digit deep within her before adding a second and rubbing at her clit.

 

It’s impossibly fast and rushed but it’s been so _long_ \- for both of them - and it’s the first time since regaining the use of her legs. She _needs_ this. All of the sensations are heightened, and she can feel the tell tale sign of climax creeping along the edge of her senses.

 

“Oliver, please…”

 

His lips trail down the curve of her neck, painting a line of heat before recapturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. Felicity idly wonders if it’s possible she may come from his kiss alone when his fingers pinch roughly at her clit. The mix of pleasure and pain is overwhelming. Her toes curl and her nails bite into the skin of Oliver’s shoulders as she lets go, falling head first into orgasm.

 

It urges Oliver into a frenzy of desperation. She hears him swear, hears the zip of pants and ruffling of clothes and then he’s buried inside of her without hesitation.

 

Both of them groan at the feeling of being joined together once more. Felicity’s still pulsing from her climax, her inner muscles pulling Oliver tightly into her. The edge of the desk is biting into her ass to the point of pain, but she can’t find it in herself to care, because this is _Oliver_ and it’s been... so long away from him.

 

The physical need claws at her from within.

 

His hips piston into hers relentlessly, chasing the feeling of completion. It’s not enough, she wants to tell him. But instead, she tightens her legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back and bringing him in even closer to her.

 

On the edge of her periphery, she can hear items on the desk rattling with the force of their passion but even the expensive technology behind her pales in comparison to the man in front of her.

 

The pace is punishing, hands flying across each other as they desperately try to memorize the feeling before it’s gone again. When Oliver’s head falls into the crook of her neck, she knows he’s getting close.

 

Pushing him along, she works her inner muscles, squeezing around him. His breath falters and her hands yank at his hair in satisfaction of affecting him. He pumps into her once, twice, three times… and then his body stills against her, shooting forward and emptying into her. The feeling brings forth a second, smaller climax of her own, small pulses pulling at her.

 

When they’ve calmed, Oliver slumps against her, breath heavy in her ear.

 

In the moments after, the room is draped in silence.

 

An indefinite amount of time passes but Oliver has yet to move from his place against her, his head still resting in her neck.

 

Felicity’s unsure of what to do and what to say. The cold reality of what they’ve just done is beginning to sink in and she can feel the ice move through her veins in panic.

 

_Oh god, oh god. This was not smart…_

 

As if feeling the sudden stillness within, Oliver pulls back, his eyes sated but wary. He opens his mouth but she’s shaking her head, her hands pushing lightly at his shoulders as an indication to move back.

 

He takes the hint.

 

They fix their clothes in continued silence, neither of them meeting each other’s eyes.

 

It’s painfully awkward and the empty hotel room Felicity has avoided all night is looking better and better with every passing second.

 

Steeling herself, she finally looks up at him and says, “This was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

 

“Felicity, wait --”

 

“You should go, Oliver,” she interrupts.

 

Oliver’s eyes harden, his body screaming for a fight, a rebuttal, anything -- before the battle seems to falls out of him. Acceptance and resignation color his features, his movements marked with regret. Running a hand through his hair, he nods. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what… Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

 

She stares back, the need for any other words seeming superfluous. And with another sigh, he turns around and walks out of the office, leaving her alone.

 

Again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - a HUGE, HUGE thanks to Mariah for the absolutely beautiful artwork for this story. You are amazing. 
> 
> Second of all - I decided to post this chapter a little early due to the amazing response. Thank you guys so much!

_ (Artwork is by the lovely [fe-li-ci-ty](http://fe-li-ci-ty.tumblr.com)) _

 

* * *

 

 

“Hit me, Overwatch,” Oliver’s rough voice comes through her ear.

 

“He’s on the corner of Grand and Central. He’s moving fast. There’s an alley off of 54th, take a right. You should be able to cut him off.”

 

“I’m on it.” 

 

The comms shut off, leaving Felicity in silence once again. Blessed silence. 

 

It’s been three days since their slip up. 

 

_ That’s the nice way of putting it, right? When someone emotionally regresses and has rough, angry, amazing desk sex with an ex fiance?  _

 

She’s afraid hiding behind flippant remarks has become something of a security blanket as of late. But well -- things have been awkward since that day, to say the least. 

 

They only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary. The comms, for instance. Small pieces of information here and there. Anything else… well, they had come to a silent agreement that there  _ was _ nothing else to be said. 

 

So for days they’ve tip toed around the lair with carefully crafted airs of disinterest. 

 

It’s not that she expected anything different. There was no way they could do…  _ that _ and expect things between them to be right as rain. Their situation had already been fifty shades of difficult before almost getting married and then fucking each other on top of her desk. This… this was just icing on the cake. 

 

Everything aside, Felicity could deal with the personal upheaval. If that was all there was, it would be no issue. 

 

But the tension between the two of them had begun to affect the dynamics of the team.

 

She knew that John in particular had taken notice, his knowing eyes a heavy weight upon her each night in the lair. She loved that man but  _ frack _ was he too observant for his own good. Or hers, anyway.

 

The awkward atmosphere, the fleeting looks… all of this would be  _ okay _ if the safety of their team wasn’t at risk. After the first failed prosecution and subsequent release from prison, Darhk had amped up his efforts -- against Star City and against them. 

 

There was no room for error. They had already made too many of those over the past five months.

 

Which was why the issues between her and Oliver were far more dangerous than unanswered questions and hurt feelings.  

 

Their relationship problems needed to be tabled so the focus could rest solely on saving their city, and themselves.

 

“We got him.” The voice in her ear comes back, “Heading back now.”

 

She sighed.  _ Wonderful. _

 

The short lived peace of an empty lair is soon ruined by the ping of an elevator and the tell tale sounds of four masked heroes entering the dark space. As usual, Oliver speaks quietly in short, clipped sentences to John and Thea, before carefully placing his bow back in the case and heading towards the bunkers to change out of the suit. 

 

There are no soft looks or quick kisses to her lips. 

 

There isn’t even a look spared.

 

With his back turned, she’s allowed a second to really look over him. 

 

He was favoring his good knee, a slight limp in his gait that told her the fight had gotten particularly physical. The rest of his large frame was tense, every movement he made was calculated and particular. He can tell she’s watching him.

 

It’s enough to move her gaze away, noticing John watching the two of them with an interested gaze. She can feel her face heat up and quickly spins her chair back to the dual screens of her computer set up. 

 

Aloof. That’s the watchword.

 

She just needs to keep reminding herself.

 

Moments later, he’s walking back out in dark jeans and a beige jacket, no doubt ready to run before anything else demands his attention. She’s in complete agreement, keeping her eyes trained on the screen in front of her. With the week they’ve had, neither of them need another confrontation. 

 

She listens as he shakes hands with John, well wishes for his family on his tongue before the elevators slip shut taking his form away. 

 

“Felicity.”

 

She should’ve known there was no way she was getting out of here tonight without John cornering her. After last year’s business with Ra’s and Oliver’s short stint with the League of Assassins which led to Lyla’s kidnapping, fake or not, they had become each other’s sounding board when it came to Oliver. 

 

The need for it had lessened and then vanished after she had left with Oliver to travel the world with him. The familiar ache in her chest pulls at her. Things had seemed so easy on the streets of Positano. Despite continuing to work with the team behind Oliver’s back, she really had been happy with him, doing absolutely nothing but living in the moment and enjoying it. 

 

It seems years and thousands of miles away now. And in the past two weeks, John has become one of the few things allowing Felicity to keep a grip on her sanity. 

 

Sighing, she turns to face him. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

 

“Do you?” he counters softly.

 

“I have it under control, Dig. We’re just… going through typical break-up stuff. It’ll get easier.” She isn’t sure who she’s trying to convince. 

 

He stares at her in that unnervingly wise way he has, like he knows every thought going through her mind before she even has a chance to think them. 

 

“There’s a lot on my plate at Palmer Tech too,” she adds, feeling the need to fill the silence with further reassurances, “Curtis and I have been working on expanding the prototype line for people with disabilities. Like mine. Well, like the one I used to have.”

 

He doesn’t look convinced, but he allows the change of subject. 

 

“That’s great, Felicity. The amount of people who could benefit and find a second chance with your technology is immeasurable. I can’t think of a better use of your time.”

 

She smiles, the pride making her warm.

 

But he continues. “This thing with you and Oliver. Don’t let it fester for too long. I’m not sure what happened between the two of you in the past few days --”

 

“Nothing --”

 

“But you need to address it,” he finishes.

 

Felicity sighs, wanting to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. 

 

“The whole thing with our almost-marriage may have made things a little tense. That’s all.”

 

A hand lands on her shoulder, and she looks up at him, a sad smile on his face. 

 

“I’m always here for you, Felicity.”

 

Squeezing the hand on her shoulder, she gives him a small smile in return.

 

“Go home to your family, John. I’ll close up here.”

 

He looks like he wants to say more, but clearly sees he won’t be getting anything else from her tonight. 

 

_ Good, because she doesn’t have much left to give. _

 

* * *

 

A few days later, a metahuman on the run from Central City shows up to wreak havoc upon Star City. As if they didn’t have enough problems. 

 

Cisco’s been calling him Blade Runner because of his affinity for knives and quick getaways. Whatever you wanted to call the guy, he’d been the source of five muggings and two bank  robberies downtown before they’re able to get more than a quick read on him. 

 

Barry had offered to come into town to help, but with Zoom and the tales of talking Sharks that Dig had laid on their lap, Oliver had shut that down quickly. His territorial pride always taking precedence over his will to ask for help.

 

_ We’re good, Barry, we can handle it _ , she thinks to herself in a mock gesture of Oliver’s words. 

 

Yeah, right.

 

She can hear the commotion of the fight over the comms, her anxiety rising higher and higher with every shout and crash that manages to make its way over the airwaves. 

 

“Corner him, Speedy. I think I can head him off before he makes it across the bridge,” comes Oliver’s voice.

 

“Roger that. Be careful, Ollie. This guy is dangerous.”

 

There’s no other sound across the radio for minutes. This is the part that Felicity hates -- like  _ really _ hates. They’ve been at it for almost four years, but the silence and the not knowing of what’s going on through the comms still kills her.

 

_ Maybe after all this is done I should get with Cisco about installing micro cameras on their suits. _

 

After a few more minutes of static, she can’t take it anymore. 

 

“What’s going on guys? Talk to me. One very blonde and nervous IT expert turned CEO over here.”

 

It’s Diggle’s voice that greets her. “We’re on our way back, Overwatch.” He pauses, only the sound of passing traffic floating through the speakers, and she wonders at the tone of his voice before his voice is flickering through her ear again, “Get the medical kit ready.”

 

* * *

 

Everything about what she’s doing right now goes against their silent truce, but Felicity can’t find any part of her that cares. 

 

Blood. There’s  _ a lot _ of blood. 

 

When the team had stumbled back through the elevator, it was all she could see. 

 

Bright blue eyes had zeroed in on Oliver’s abdomen immediately. 

 

It’s only been a few months since her own accident and the memory of the pain she felt when the bullet passed through her side is still as fresh as the day it had happened. She had passed out not long after, but the smell and the feel of her blood leaving her is something she will never forget. 

 

Not ever. 

 

The sight of it, now, all over Oliver, has her mind spinning in a million different directions. 

 

She can’t think -- about  _ anything, _ except for getting to him.

 

Making sure he’s okay.

 

In the back of her mind, she knows he is. He’s walking, leaning against John as he’s helped to the med table in the middle of the room. He’s alive but all she can see is the blood on his side, so,  _ so _ close to where Ra’s had stabbed him last year. 

 

When she had lost him.

 

She’s in front of him before she can think about it. Her hands move over him, unzipping the jacket and pulling the padding from his shoulders. She’s meticulous, watching for any sight of discomfort while cutting the black under shirt from his body.

 

She winces and apologizes at his hiss of pain, only momentarily distracted by his reaction before her eyes take in the injury. 

 

There’s two or three shallow cuts. They don’t even need stitches. Just some proper care and bandaging. 

 

“Why is there so much blood?” she asks, her heart rate finally finding a normal speed.

 

“It’s not all mine.”

 

The answer should be reassuring, despite the connotations. It should take away from some of the anxiety that bubbles up in her stomach every passing second she keeps her eyes on his side.

 

But the sight of the cut, right next to the scarring from Oliver’s trip over the mountain… 

 

These risks never get easier, she thinks, her heart somewhere in her stomach. 

 

“Dig, can you hand me the peroxide please?”

 

“Felicity --” Oliver speaks up, but she gives him a determined look that must have him thinking twice about what he was about to say, for he immediately shuts up and lets her do her thing. 

 

She quickly begins working on cleaning the area, pointedly ignoring Oliver’s dark gaze that memorizes every flick of her hand and turn of her neck. His look is heady and her skin itches with the beginnings of arousal. 

 

_ So not the time or place. _

 

Felicity’s just finishing applying medial ointment to the cut when Thea, Dig and Laurel announce they’re going to head out for the night. She barely spares them a look, throwing a minor grunt of agreement and allowing Oliver to amusedly tell them they’ll see them tomorrow. 

 

She knows,  _ knows _ the way she’s acting is so far out of their boundaries right now that it’s not even funny. They haven’t spoken directly on anything outside of work for days and this is Oliver Queen. He’s had so much worse than a few shallow cuts from a knife. 

 

But as she tightens the bandage around the area, she allows herself to feel everything that’s been sitting on the vestiges of her mind for the past few months. Since the limo and the bullets.

 

The injury hits too close to home. She’s felt that way a lot recently with everything they’ve been through. 

 

Nothing is ever easy. She knows this all too well. 

 

“You’d think after dealing with weird, ancient magic for months, metahumans wouldn’t even phase me anymore.”

 

She’s beginning to ramble, feels the words bubbling up, unable to stop them --

 

“What kind of name is Blade Runner anyway? Cisco used to be better at this,” she murmurs.

 

Oliver huffs out a small laugh, opening his mouth to comment, but she’s just getting started --

 

“I guess it’s just another scar to add to your arsenal, huh? I know we’ll forget about this in the months to come. It’ll just be another night, another fight. But the scars keep the memory alive forever. It’s hard to believe there was a time when I was jealous of them.” 

 

Her breath gets caught in her throat, remembering how badly she had once wished to have her own, anything to help her physically stack up against the rest of the members of the team. The first bullet, after jumping in front of Sara, had been a badge of honor. Her very own scar. She had been proud of it - she still is. But the newer one, the one that for months had spelled out a different way of life… it’s safe to say she’s over the infatuation. 

 

“Felicity, hey --”

 

Pulling back, she lightly pats the bandage before stepping back, the beginnings of light embarrassment over her fawning starting to hit her. 

 

“Right. You’re all good. Take a few of those aspirins and you shouldn’t feel a thing.”

 

Oliver’s hand grasps hers, finally stopping her from moving any further away. 

 

“Thank you, Felicity. You didn’t have to do that.”

 

Knowing never stopped anyone.

 

“Right,” her voice is stilted, “I shouldn’t have --”

 

He stops her. “But I’m glad you did.”

She gives him a small smile, so reminiscent of earlier days. Back when her patching him up in the foundry was the norm. Back when she was  _ his girl. _

 

It hits her then that his hand still rests over her own. His thumb has started to move unconsciously, stroking her palm and sending zaps of electricity up and down her arm. When she moves her eyes up to meet his, she finds he’s watching her with dark eyes.

 

The moment fills her with trepidation, her feet hanging over a precipice of what she shouldn’t do… and what she knows she’s about to.

 

Oliver is watching her warily, but his hand doesn’t stop its ministrations - it moves slower, more precise. Deliberate. Her hands are itching with indecision, her feet teetering over the edge and yet --

 

Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, she crushes her mouth to his. 

 

Much like the last time, any hesitation between them vanishes with the first touch of their lips upon one another. Oliver’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, his hands circling her waist to pull her closer to him. 

 

Running her hands over his shoulders, she’s careful to avoid pressing into his side, the fresh bandages stark white against the tan of his skin. When he pulls her in closer, she feels the involuntary jerk it causes. Pushing at his shoulders, she ignores the look of confusion, turning him slightly to the left and urging him into the chair next to the table.

 

The break in kissing should clear the haze around the edges of her mind. It should wake them up, remind them that having sex is the last thing they should be doing. But it does none of those things. If anything, the arousal builds to a crescendo, urging them further along. 

 

In seconds, her panties have hit the floor from their place underneath her skirt. Then she has a leg over his hips and his hand is pulling at her waist, helping her settle onto his lap. Their lips crash into each other once again, Oliver’s hands pulling at the hem of her shirt and helping it up and off her shoulders. 

 

Her hips grind down into his erection, which has hardened under her in moments. He groans, his head falling into the crease between her breasts, sucking lightly on the curves even as his hands reach around her back to unclasp her bra. Immediately, his lips fall onto her rosy nipples, pulling and sucking, leaving her a hot mess on top of his lap. 

 

“Oliver, god --  _ yes _ ,” she moans.

 

Her hands scrape through his hair, nails running down his neck and onto his shoulder where they find purchase, digging in. His lips tighten around her nipple, biting gently before he pulls at her hair, moving to her neck to provide the same treatment. Teeth bite and scrape against her neck, the movement urging her hips into a rhythmic grind against his. 

 

The pressure is good, god it’s good -- but it’s not enough. So she reaches down between them, grasping his erection through his pants and smiling into the kiss when she feels the growl in his chest. Her hand grasps around him through the leather of his arrow suit as best she can, but it’s hard. 

 

She snorts lightly at the innuendo in her head, causing Oliver to pull back and tilt his head at her. Shaking her head, she uses her core to push up onto her knees. 

 

“I need you inside of me. Help me with these leather pants, god they are really plastered onto you --”

 

He doesn’t waste any time. In seconds, the leather is pulled down just enough for his straining erection to pop out at her, her hands immediately grasping him once again as her mouth finds his, unable to stay away any longer. The need twists in her gut, wanting more and  _ more. _

 

Lifting herself up, she allows him to help guide himself to her slit, moving her hips and rubbing over it slowly. Getting close, but not allowing him to slip inside just yet. 

 

It’s enough to pull a tortured groan out of him. “ _ Felicity _ . Fuck.”

 

She slams down roughly, enjoying the feel of him filling her so perfectly and the moan that rips savagely from his throat. After only days of sleeping with Oliver on their road trip, she had learned quickly that any show of force from her was a special sort of aphrodisiac to him. For someone so in control all of the time, he loved giving it up to her sexually. 

 

His eyes roll back in his head but he regains control of himself quickly, hands settling on her waist and guiding her up and down his hard length. Pushing up, she swirls her hips around slowly, hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

 

A drop of sweat slowly trickles down from his forehead to his jaw, and there’s no stopping her from leaning forward to lick it off. Her hands tighten into his shoulders at the taste just as his hands twitch around her waist and then he’s lifting her up and off his erection, just to the point of protest before roughly bringing her back down all the way. 

 

“Oh,  _ ohhhh _ \-- Oliver,” the moan is strangled in her throat, her heart slamming in her ribcage. 

 

Over and over, their hips push into each other as she bounces on his lap. His breath is hot against her chest, sending chills down her spine and bringing her nipples to pebbles in front of him. She’s growing closer and closer to the edge when his lips wrap around one said pebble on her chest. The moan that leaves her is almost animalistic at its’ core and she reinforces her efforts, her legs growing tired at supporting her but the need to come is too great to stop.

 

The sound of their slapping skin and their heavy breathing is the only thing Felicity can even think of when Oliver’s hand reaches below them to play with her clit. 

 

“Yes, Oliver,  _ yes _ \--”

 

The combination of his fingers and his erection pressing into her at  _ just _ the right angle sends her spiraling. She comes with a strangled groan, her head falling back as she rides him, rides out the powerful orgasm he’s just ripped from her body. Oliver waits, moving her hips slowly over his, back and forth, as he waits for her to finish. 

 

Moments later, when she’s come somewhat to grips, his hands tighten before he resumes lifting her up and down on top of him. It’s impressive, the way his muscles strain but show no sign of discomfort as he brings her up and down on him with increased speed. He thrusts into her over and over before she feels him jerk, pushing her down on top of him with force as he spills into her. 

 

This time it’s Felicity who rests her head in his shoulder, her hands slick with sweat from resting on Oliver’s body. The cold chill of the lair begins to sweep back over her and she pushes closer to his body, which burns as hot as a furnace. Everything inside of her wishes she could stay right here, but in seconds the moment passes and they remember. Again.

 

There are no apologies as she slides off of him, pulling her discarded underwear back on and following suit with her shirt. Oliver rights himself back in his pants, standing precariously to watch his injury, which is when she spots the fresh blood behind the bandage. 

 

Sliding her glasses on, she reprimands herself for getting caught up and not being more careful with him. She grabs a new bandage, holding him in place while she wipes off the new blood and secures it over the cuts. 

 

He watches her in weighted silence, but doesn’t say a word. 

 

They make no excuses as they move around each other, righting the table and grabbing their belongings. 

 

What is there to say when they both know this is only the beginning?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others but important for where we're going. Thanks, as always, for the continued feedback and I hope you enjoy!

(Artwork is by the lovely _[fe-li-ci-ty](http://fe-li-ci-ty.tumblr.com)_ )

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a week since the incident in the lair.

 

They’ve settled into a new routine, one with more… generous benefits, you could say.

 

Despite their knowledge of right and wrong, despite knowing that they were broken up and they shouldn’t be doing _this_ \-- they’ve slept together twice in the days since.

 

It brings their total ex sex count to four, if Felicity was keeping track of such things.

 

There’s no excuse for their actions, no reason to it except for pure, physical _want._

 

They want each other, plain and simple. And they’ve stopped letting logic keep them from taking what they want.

 

It’s not the smartest decision the two of them had ever made, but Oliver’s a part of it and god knows he was not the best decision maker around. _(That’s what Felicity keeps telling herself, anyway.)_

 

To their credit, they do attempt to watch where and when and _why_ it happens. It’s not an everyday occurrence and they don’t take it for granted. It happens at the end of long shifts at work or the lair, when one of them can’t see a way out of the tension that sits on their shoulders. They fool themselves into thinking it’s a healthy way to work through life’s everyday problems while pointedly ignoring their own.

 

The first time had been two short days after she had let her body take control of her mind and had ridden Oliver in her chair. The lair had been silent that night, Darhk suspiciously quiet. Thea and Laurel were at home, enjoying the night off while Dig was out, grateful for the family time.

 

Felicity had found herself in the lair regardless, itching for something to do that didn’t involve Palmer Tech paperwork or sitting alone in her hotel room. She really needed to begin looking for a permanent place to live, but something continued to stop her. She didn’t want to address just what that was, so she distracted herself with camera surveillance.

 

It seemed Oliver had a similar idea in mind when he walked in shortly thereafter.

 

For an hour, they had made small talk regarding strategy and small crime on the streets. When the conversation came to a stall, Oliver had switched gears quickly, moving to the salmon ladder to begin his weekly torture on her psyche. She tried valiantly to keep her concentration on the screens in front of her. It worked… for a while.

 

But as Oliver kept at it, working himself tirelessly, sweat dripping down his muscled abs… her eyes tracking every, single, drop...

 

What was she supposed to do?

 

Oliver had her slammed up against a pillar not long after. They moved with practiced ease, with him in control this time. He took her quickly, leaving them sated and ready to call it quits on the day.

 

Like before, there had been no apologies or excuses. They finished with quiet agreement of the situation and went their separate ways, both ignoring the ever present desire to reach out and just hold on.

 

The ache in her back later that night had been the only indication something had occurred.

 

It was only a few days later that they found themselves in a similar situation.

 

Her mom had been in town more often lately, ever since their break up. Felicity knows it’s an endless show of support, and she’s beyond grateful for it, but after spending the entire day being shuffled between spas and salons, she was ready for some peace and quiet.

 

When she found she was already on the way to the lair after leaving her mom in the hotel, she realized exactly what she was going looking for. There was no denying what she wanted. _Needed._

She passed John on the way in, who shot her a confused glance before telling her there was nothing exciting happening, that she could go home and enjoy the night off.  

 

Felicity made up an excuse, something about leaving paperwork downstairs that she needed for a meeting tomorrow. He accepted it without question, making her feel guilty for lying. She _never_ lies to Dig, not outright.

 

When she walked in, Oliver had taken one look at her before pulling her towards the bunks.

 

Sliding against one another on the small cot, she idly wondered why no strings attached sex with Oliver was ten times more relaxing than the most decadent of spas.

 

* * *

 

“What’s that?” Thea asks, a few days later.

 

It’s early by their standards, the mid-afternoon scare by the ghosts having pulled the team into action in broad daylight. Not something they usually did, but necessary today.

 

Oliver’s just walked out from changing when Felicity spots it. Her eyes plead with him to look her way, but Thea beats her to the punch before she can point it out.

 

_Oh boy._

 

“What’s what?” Oliver replies.

 

“On your neck. It kind of looks like a hickey, bro.”

 

His eyes widened imperceptibly, a hand shooting forward to touch his neck. He’s remembering, Felicity knows. Remembering when she had roughly sucked his skin into her mouth while he pounded into her on the small cot in the bunks. The memory of it alone heats her skin, but she’s too invested in Oliver’s reaction to _this_ moment to allow the arousal to take precedence.

 

“It’s not a hickey, Thea. It must be a bruise. I’ll check it out.” His voice carries a tone of finalization, calling the conversation to a close.

 

He’s turned around, walking towards one of the bathrooms when she notices Dig’s eyes shooting back and forth between her and Oliver. There’s a question in his eyes that she knows she’ll answer if she lets him look at her for too long. She promptly turns back to her screen to keep busy, unease rolling in her stomach.

 

Thea lets out a quiet and drawn out, “All right…” before she heads out for the evening, Laurel turning and following shortly thereafter.

 

C’mon, she thinks. Who is going to believe that Oliver and her are casually sleeping together? The thought of it is crazy -- preposterous, and she’s one of the people actually _involved_ in it.

 

But the look Dig shoots her as she gathers her belongings, preparing to head out into the cool air, tells her he’s not sure it’s so nuts.

 

The rolling in her stomach grows louder.

 

* * *

 

She’s in the bath later that night when the knock on her door comes.

 

Confused, she thinks she’s imagined it. Her mom left that morning and there’s no reason for anyone to come to her hotel room this late. Or at all. The team had already shut down for the day, the exhaustion of the last few weeks beginning to take it’s toll.

 

With a short sigh of frustration, she wraps herself in a towel and makes her way to the door. When she pulls it open, a nervous Oliver Queen stands in her doorway.

 

Tilting her head, she looks at him contemplatively.

 

Felicity can’t help but assume he’s come here for sex, but the sight of him here in her space, throws her off balance. This is the first time Oliver has sought her out somewhere other than the lair since they had started sleeping together.

 

It unnerves her. Brings a new level of realness to… whatever they’re doing here.

 

“Sorry to bother you. Can I come in?”

 

She was going to invite him in, eventually - but the clear sound of nervous energy in his voice and the cautious look in his eyes has her opening her door wider and stepping aside. He gives her a tight smile before making his way inside. His eyes scan the space, taking in the small touches of her personal belongings spread across the impersonal room haphazardly.

 

It’s a far cry from their loft.

 

 _His_ loft, she remembers painfully.

 

But it’s best not to think about such things.

 

_(She tries.)_

 

Felicity clears her throat, needing to think about anything other than what she no longer has. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

 

Crossing his arms, he nods. “Yeah - yeah. Everyone is fine. Uh, Dig... I think he uh, knows.”

 

She knows the answer even before she asks --

 

“Knows?”

 

He looks at her from under his lashes, a tight look in his eyes. “ _Knows.”_

 

“Right,” her voice sounds scratchy even to her own ears, “Why do you think he knows?”

 

“Probably because he told me.”

 

Felicity shoots him an unimpressed glare, prompting him to crack a smile for the first time since entering her room. Rolling her eyes, she takes a seat on the couch before gesturing for him to do the same.

 

It’s weird, them being here together. After weeks of them only spending time together in the lair, the change in scenery has her feeling off kilter. By the way Oliver holds himself, it’s obvious he feels the same way.

 

“I’m not surprised. He cornered me last week, wanting to know what was going on between us. I was able to shut him down, but I knew he wasn’t convinced. After Thea saw that hickey on your neck yesterday, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

 

Oliver’s eyes heat with recognition, and she knows he’s back to remembering the _how_ and the _when_ of said hickey. Swallowing, she plays with the hem of her towel to keep her from reaching out.

 

“I tried to throw him off course,” he adds. “But after last year, I promised myself I wouldn’t outright lie to him if I could help it. Not again.”

 

“That’s good,” she adds.

 

But she wonders why she wasn’t afforded the same courtesy.

 

They sit for a few moments, not saying a word. No doubt both of them thinking about lies and honesty and everything that has led them down the path they are on today. Felicity wonders if they’ll ever reach a point where her mind lets these thoughts rest. The way her brain works, it’s doubtful, but she can’t help but hope.

 

She sighs when it becomes clear he’s not going to speak. “What did he have to say?”

 

Oliver looks surprised, like he wasn’t so sure that they were really going to talk about this. Out loud.

 

Or acknowledge it at all.

 

After a beat, he sighs. “He said we’re avoiding our issues.”

 

“And?”

 

“What do you think? He told me it was a bad idea. Said we’re running blindly into something that’s going to blow up in our faces.”

 

Felicity snorts. Understatement of the century.

 

“What? You agree?”

 

She looks at him, deadpan. “Do you disagree?”

 

Oliver looks uncertain, his thumb and forefinger rubbing anxiously at his side in a habit that Felicity herself knows she’s picked up from him, from spending so much time with him over the past few years.

 

“No, I guess not. It’s just --”

 

“What?” she interrupts.

 

“Listen, Felicity. I know the deal here. I know that you’re not ready and I know you haven’t forgiven me yet, and maybe you never will,” he pauses, his breath hitching.

 

Without realizing it, she’s inching closer to him, waiting on an answer that she’s sure is going to turn her stomach over once again.

 

One second,

 

two seconds,

 

Meeting her eyes, he finishes, “But I’m getting to spend time with you again. Getting to see you and tou-... Well, it’s hard for me to say anything is bad about that.”

 

Felicity’s pulse takes off in a pounding rhythm, as she valiantly works to push down the tears that threaten to rise and fall from her lids. She doesn’t admit it often, but Oliver was right. She is definitely _not_ ready for this conversation. Not in any way.

 

Steeling herself, she looks up at him. “I wish I could say that you’re wrong, that I’m ready to talk or forgive or consider _anything_ other than this thing we’re doing, but I’m not.”

 

His eyes fall downcast, the large frame of his body tensing even as his mind knows the score.

 

“And don’t think for a second that Dig is wrong either. This _is_ a bad idea, Oliver. And if we had any sense of self preservation, we would call a spade a spade and put an end to this right now,” she stops, licking her lips and inching ever slightly closer to him, “But I don’t want to stop.”

 

When his hands reach for her waist, they barely have to pull - her body already moving to close the final distance left between them.

 

Their lips meld together seamlessly, ending the conversation and the excuses and the pleas of right and wrong. Here, like this, none of that matters anymore.

 

In the back of Felicity’s head, she knows - _knows_ , that Dig’s words ring true.

 

This situation has had bad news written all over it ever since the first moment they had touched.

 

But as Oliver lifts her up, her legs wrapping around the solid wall of his torso, she forgets.

 

The touch of his skin against her own, his hands gripping her in an effort to never let her go erases the lies and the consequences.

 

When Oliver lays her back against the soft pillows and sheets of her hotel, she remembers.

 

She remembers the feeling of the breeze against her skin as their car zipped down broken highways. She remembers Positano and seeing a light in Oliver’s eyes that had never been present before leaving Starling City. She remembers the nights spent in their bed without anything but thoughts of brunch the next morning.

 

And when Oliver slides inside of her, his lips soft against her neck, she accepts.

 

This will run it’s course, and thinking they have any chance of stopping it is useless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think - reviews feed the muse :)
> 
> Tumblr -- /queenmerlyn  
> Twitter -- /olivermulder


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